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[thanks Bee]

Hey there, trench-drenchers!


Yes I said it.


Today it managed to stay light outside until 5 p.m. 

[by Rian Merrill]

Holy, holy shit.  


As I headed toward the bathroom at work, I saw the sun slant onto the office carpet all warm and evening-like for the first time in ages, and it occurred to me that maybe it won't always be freezing forever, with blackened slush and lead-grey skies and heavyass winter boots and fucking puffy coats that always fall off onto the floor when you hang them up. 

 [thanks needlepointernc.wordpress.com]

Maybe, someday, it won't get dark 'till 9 p.m., and we'll all be laughing somewhere with our bikes in a circle on the street while we eat ice cream, waiting for a band to start their set, wearing tank tops that show off great tattoos and curving collarbones while the balmy breeze gently ruffles our asymmetrical haircuts. 

[viarunningdive]

Someday, bitches.


I don't know about you faggettes, but when winter hits, I have the distinct, animal-like tendency to curl up and hibernate. 


Put on the red footie pajamas, bake gluten-free chocolate cake, light the balsam-fir-scented candle, get out the shameful Thomas Kinkade (Painter of Light!) 750-piece jigsaw puzzle with the picture of cozy, non-existent English hamlets and spread it alllll out over the floor.

This is what I do if I allow myself to hibernate.


And... once I start hibernating, it gets gradually harder and harder to do anything at all outside of the bare minimum of going to work. 


Eventually, as the weeks pass, vital, regular-life things, such as 'going to the grocery store' or 'taking the trash outside' become insurmountable tasks.

[thanks Cara]

Obtaining food (at the grocery store less than 1 block from my house) means taking off my pajamas. 


And I am not willing to do that. 
For any reason.

[thanks Hannah L.]

I become a living embodiment of the principle of inertia:  I resist any change to my state of rest.

Lots of people do this in the wintertime.  
Dykes especially.  

Why do you think gayelles vanish from the clubs and restaurants and bars and events?  

It's too fucking cold and girls are soft and warm to cuddle with.


As my friend Sarah's grandma once said to me: "Honey, it's colder than a nun's cunt out there."

Everyone's at home, wifed up with their girlfriends and roommates, bitching about how no one goes out, Netflixing Bound for the 22nd time in their sweatpants.

So.  
This year, knowing my tendencies toward extreme shut-in-like behavior, I decided to perform a Highly Scientific Experiment.

Hypothesis: If inertia works one way for me - i.e. an object at rest wants to stay at rest - then the inverse must be true - i.e. an object in motion wants to stay in motion.

Like I formally declared in my New Year's resolutions:  I was going the fuck out.  

[thanks Bee]

And now, y'allfags, I'm exhausted.  
I've been going out all over the place.  
For a hermit like me, it's been fairly intense.


In the last week or so I've: shot pool and darts (yes) at a two different dyke bars, watched a lesbian comedy show, gone to the Chicago League of Lady Arm Wrestlers, gone to see a 90s-sounding garage girlpunky band, and been dancing twice.  

And...it's working! The Scientific Experiment is working!


Eureka! 

My body in motion wants to maintain its state of motion! 


Sluts, I've found the cure for Winter Dyke Drought:


Just go out a few days in a row, and you won't be able to stop after that.  
You'll remember that you like to do things not-so-much involving your electric blanket, and inertia will take care of the rest.


When I win the Nobel Prize for discovering this, I expect you all to put on some actual pants and come to the afterparty, btdubbs. 

[via untamedgorilla:]

Anyway! Since everyone's been inside so much, have you been watching all these "Shit That ___ Say"  YouTube videos lately?  


I know, I know.
Everyone's sick of 'em.  
Everyone except me. 


My god.  I can't get enough.


It started with this one: 

And morphed into a whole  genre   of  hilarious shit.

We all traded the best videos back and forth among ourselves at work, and I thought that every possible population niche had finally been accounted for....

UNTIL I SAW THIS ONE:

And laughed at my desk until tears streamed down my face.


"Is this gluten-free?"  "We met because her ex and my ex are dating now."  "Let me just re-blog this post about pronoun usage."


HELP ME JEEBUS I'M A STEREOTYPE.


Bah.


The lesbian in me wants to get offended by this, but there is really no. denying. that I've said "heteronormative" in the last few days.

[thanks http://rachelmaddowheygirl.tumblr.com. just...thanks.]

But really, though - why is this video so funny?


I think it's funny because it's an exaggerated version of the truth. 


I see myself in it.
I see everyone I know lots of gay girls I've met in it.

And...how is it possible that so many of us say these exact things?  


Where did all this come from?  Who started it?  

[thanks pillowtalkmpls]

Why do lots of us latch onto the same ideas - so many of us that someone can make a hilarious, total burn of a video and have thousands of queer girls instantly identify with it?


Y'know, going out so much to queer stuff lately has gotten me thinking about gaydar in general.

[thanks Sky]

How are lesbians and queer girls so damn distinctive? 


How do entire clutches of girls manage to throw off "gay" to onlookers? 


How do we glance at a group of women and instantly get a suspicion that peen might not be on the snacktray ?

[thanks sg]

Is it a walk?  A way of talking?  A specific item of clothing?


Is lesbianism a special club you instantly join the moment you admit you're going through more than a 'passing phase' with boobies?

[via planeta-venus]

Clearly these deep issues must be pondered.


Because y'allfags, I've been getting quite a few plaintive letters just like this one lately: 


*edited for length*
Hi Krista of effingdykes,

I have a problem. I know this is going to sound weird, but here goes: I finally figured out last year that I'm queer, but I don't think I'm gay enough for the gays, if that makes sense.
  
I'm not straight and I'm not bi. I'm queer. I guess I would be called a lesbian, 'cos I don't sleep with men, but...I don't know how to "be a lesbian."  (Ok this isn't making any sense, I'm sorry.)  I just feel like when I'm out with other lesbians, I don't know what to do. The dykes in my town are really cliquey, and it's impossible to break in. I want to be in the club, but I don't know how. I feel like lesbians don't accept me, and straight people don't either. Maybe I act wrong.
  
Ok thanks for your help if you understood this at all,

K.L.

[thanks Celeste]

Hmm.
Cliquey dykes, eh?  

Sounds like every town.

K.L., all dykes in all towns are cliquey, and if you think they're not, that means that you're happily ensconced in a dyke clique of your very own.

[thanks Jennifer B.]

It's really hard to break into new friend circles.  
It takes a long time. 

A lot of us come out and go "I'M READY NEW GAY FRIENDS COME FIND MEEEE" and then are perplexed when it proves harder than it looks to break into an awesome queer posse.

[thanks Elle R.]

The 'Shit Queer Grrrls Say' video jokes about it, but lots of queers -  especially *cough cough* urban, privileged, young queers - share similar ideas.  


You know.  
Lots of us meet on the internet.  
We, as a people, tend to care about where our food comes from.  
We all, all, all have crazy exes.

[via thisfemaleform]

But that doesn't mean that's how all queer girls act. 
Thank christ.


Not all dykes like cats.  
Not all queerelles are boi-ish.
Some lezzers never go out.

[thanks Valerie F.]

Obviously, there's no one way to be gay.


We are all beautiful and unique flowers in the swaying homosexual meadow - delicate, intricate blossoms of color that alone are lovely, but together make up a lush, brilliant meadow of faggotry.

K.L., you "not knowing how to act" around the cliques of dykes in your town just means you don't know how to be yourself around them yet.  


Or that they suck and you're hanging around the wrong queers. 

[thanks Sof X]

Not being "gay enough for the gays" is their bullshit problem, not yours. 

And I have news for you: 


You're already in the club. 
You're a member just by being queer. 

[thanks! drawingpicturesforyou]

While I was talking this over with CJ, she thoughtfully crunched into my last apple and said that she had just read an article that said that:


while social media is breaking boundaries all over the world in unprecedented ways, allowing us immediate access to personal information about each other online... in real life, people are marking their social boundaries more and more definitively.  


Claiming exclusive turf where once there was shared turf; pissing on a particular spot of an ever-shrinking patch of land. 


I think queers do a lot of this shit.

Watch!


We can't hang out 'cause you're new.


We can't hang out 'cause you usually fuck girls but you sometimes fuck boys.


We can't hang 'cause you're not political enough; 'cause you're a transdyke; 'cause you don't identify the same way we do. 

[thanks Andrea B.]

Gaaah. 


It's rude!  It's no fun!  It divides us where we should be backing each other up!


Anybody else feel where K.L. is coming from?

Pay It Homoward

[thanks Vanessa F.]

Hiya minge-munchers!!  


It's a new year!  We made it!  

[Brian J. Clark of The Virginian-Pilot]

The last year of life on Earth, according to the Mayans and shitty Hollywood summer movies!

Here we are, eleven days into 2012, and I must say that, so far, my New Year's resolutions are going swimmingly.

[thanks Louise M]

Now, c'mon.  'Fess up.  


What were yours?

I always have a bazillion (be less selfish, write a journal, volunteer, exercise, learn to cook tasty greens, get over the fact that everyone likes eggs but me and will eat them in front of me), but here are three resolutions I'm taking seriously this year: 


Resolution #1:  Do. more. gay. shit.

[thanks Rebekah M.]

Because there's always room for more, right?


From now on, it's happening: at least one supergay thing each week.


(And that doesn't count hanging out at a gayelle's house, going to the gay bar, or going dancing. That's cheating.)
  
I'm talking a gay event.  
I'm talking queer poetry readings.  Women's music nights.  Good drag shows.  Lezzer book clubs, queer theater, dykey movie nights, gay homo gay gay.  


--------------------------------------------


Resolution #2: No more thrifting until I stop wearing the same four outfits over and over. 

[thanks Jennifer F.]

Y'allfags.  I watched an episode of Hoarders over Christmas break that scared the shit out of me. 


No one has more odd 80's dresses than me.  
My closet is packed.  There's no more room. 


(Current Rule #1 of Thrifting:  If it has shoulder pads and would not look out of place on the Golden Girls, throw it in the cart.) 

[gimme that sweater, Blanche]

But: do I wear them?  
When it's raining on a Tuesday morning at 8 a.m. and I'm staring dead-eyed at my closet, do I reach for cute dresses with giant gold buttons and tight skirts?  


No.
No, instead I reach for a strange, depressing grey hoodie bag/dress that CJ refers to as my "chastity dress." 

Rude.


--------------------------------------------


Resolution #3: Lastly and most importantly:  Think very hard before using a non-makeup item as makeup.

Now, we've been through this.  


But I cannot learn.


I need to stop thinking of Michael's craft stores as a poor man's Sephora. 

*Backstory!*


A few days before New Year's, I was wandering through an art supply store in downtown Chicago, thinking, as I always privately  (and incorrectly) do:  "Well. I could totally be an artist too if I just had the right supplies", when my eye landed on a shelf displaying these: 

Pigment powder.  
For scrapbookers and people who want to emboss shit. 


There were about 40 colors.
Hey neat - each vial was big and only cost $5!


So shiny! So many colors!
They looked great! They looked glittery!

They looked...an awful lot like these:

MAC pigment eyeshadow powders.  
Which are really tiny and cost $20 a pop.


Hmm.  Hmm.  
I could feel it: I was on the verge of something big.


I got excited.  
Why had no one ever thought of this before??? 


Soon I would have cheap, amazingly elegant iridescent eyeshadow powder in every color on the planet and exotic, mysterious eyes and everyone would want to know my secret and I would never tell them, never. 

But!
Safety first, I thought.


I snagged a passing, bearded salesguy.

Me: 'Scuse me.  You know these powders?  Are they...non-toxic?


Salesguy: Nope.  


Me: Oh. But do you think you could put them on your skin?


Salesguy: Oh, they won't hurt you if you get some on your fingers, it washes right off.  Gets everywhere, though.  Big mess.


Me: Right...could you have it on your skin for a long time?


Salesguy: I dunno about that.  (Pause)  Why?


Me: Like, say...could you put it on your eyelids?


Salesguy: Oh, wow. Wow. No. That is a really bad idea.

[thanks Celeste]

So I bought four colors.  
Clearly he wasn't interested in pushing the boundaries of eyeshadow sophistication.
There was a beautiful rosy pearly shade; I wanted to wear it for New Year's.  

I brought my new 'makeup' home.


I got out my brushes.  Opened the pigment powder on the bathroom counter.
Ooh it was so pretty.  

Gently, gently, like the sigh of a baby dove dipping its beak into a font of holy water, I dipped my pinkie finger into the powder and streaked it across the back of my hand.

Pure, shimmering color.  
A rose-tinged kiss from a cherub's pouty lips.  All for me.  

Those overly-made up, aproned fuckers at MAC could lick my box.


I dipped the brush in.  Shut my left eye.  Stroked the brush across my eyelid.

Opened my eye.  
It. was. beautiful.  

I was a genius. 


I did my other eye, then sailed triumphantly into the kitchen, where I made some toast and promptly forgot all about it. 

Fast-forward 30 minutes.  
I rubbed my eye.


And then basically went blind.

[thanks Beth W.]

Gayelles, make me a promise.  Right here, right now. 


Swear to me that you will not try to substitute embossing pigment powder for makeup-grade pigment powder.  
Mmkay?  


Especially do not do this with contacts in. 


Anyway!  The glorious thing about being human is learning from our mistakes.  

[thanks Tessa]

Don't you think?


We never know until we try. 

I mean, just think of how we all collectively seem to know that rhubarb leaves and holly berries are poisonous.

  
Our mothers told us these plants were poisonous. 


Our mothers learned it from their mothers. 


Their mothers learned it from their mothers, and on and on through the ages until you get to the very first person who ever looked at bright holly berries peeping forth from beneath shiny dark leaves and said, "Say, I wonder if these taste nice."

We are all alive today because someone tested life for us first.


All of our human existence, up until this exact moment, is based on trial and error.  


We help the universe - add to its collective knowledge base - when we fuck up.

[thanks Andrea B.]

Isn't that a cheering thought?


That being said, today I'd like to do some learnin'. 


2011 was quite a year, and I was thinking what a shame it is to enter a new year without reaping the benefits of some collective lesbiqueer knowledge gained last year.

'Cause, y'know, all of us have made big lezzie mistakes.

[thanks Elka M.]

  
Lots of us gays have had that moment where we say the worst possible, most mood-killing thing in bed; the moment where we realize that a lie we told to a girlfriend is about to blow up in our faces. 


Was 2011 the year when you made the most grievous gaydar mistake ever?  


Was this the year you finally learned a damn lesson?

[thanks Anna B.]

Now, because I like stories with morals and dislike intense social embarrassment, I wanted to benefit from newly-acquired lesbian knowledge without having to do the dirty work.


So I sent out a Facebook message asking a buncha queer girls and bois to send me some of their 2011 Dyke Lessons Learned.


And boy, just reading through 'em, I learned so much.


I also learned something really important:  My friends are sluts.

[via splicepicturesx]

Here's just a very small sampling of what the queer fishing net brought up:


*In 2011, I learned that - even though he said "girls don't count" -  sleeping with your boyfriend's little sister does, indeed, count.

[thanks Beth W.]

*This year, I trusted a well-known player when she told me she was finally single. I tied her to her bed, naked, and got walked in on by her very current girlfriend as I myself was getting naked. 

Learn to make knots that are super easy to untie, is what I'm saying.  Also, double-check your sources, I guess.

[viastillaf22]

*Drunk, I leaned down on a chair at my friend Mia’s house party. Mia's mom came and put her hand on my back. She helped me stand up, and I looked at her and was like, "Can I kiss you?"  

And she said, "Sure." We made out in front of everyone at the party. Afterwards, she turned to this guy standing next to her and was like,  "Am I a bad mother?"

I had no idea that that happened, and two days later, I went out to lunch with Mia and the first thing she said to me was, “My mom wants to know why you didn’t send her flowers.” I went, "What?"  And she was like “My MOM, Lisa. YOU MADE OUT WITH MY MOM.”

This was the year I learned that I should drink a glass of water between each beer.

[thanks Bonbonbear]

*In 2011, I learned that I could end all of it - the drama and the fighting - by just not texting back. 
Your life is yours.  2012 is my year. 


*Never bring a cute, bi-curious girl on a two-week RV trip with you and your current girlfriend. 
Unless you want to end up in a polyamorous triangle where you spend Sunday nights on the phone navigating "boundaries."

[thanks! pillowtalkmpls]

*The one that sticks out the most is... having a one night stand and - as the girl was passed out in my bed - I drunk messaged the woman I actually liked, telling her what I'd just done. 

Admit what you actually feel about someone instead of drunk f*cking someone else to deal with it.


*Alas, this year I learned that a fauxhawk does not actually look good on every dyke :(

[Thanks Elle W.]

*Don't make presents - especially a body pillow with Kaylee from Firefly silkscreened on the cover - for your ex-girlfriend's new 'best friend' in an attempt to get back into the friend circle. 
Because they're actually probably dating. And this will look really bad for you. 


*In 2011, I was kicking it with so many girls behind my girlfriend's back that I called her from the other room, but accidentally slipped and called her another girl's name - TWICE. 
As in, two times in a row before I got the right name.


From then on, whenever I was about to say my girlfriend's name out loud, I would stop and say it in my head three times first. 

[thanks Theresa E.]

*Hi Krista! Here's my lesson from 2011: Don't buy a house with your girlfriend of one year. Maybe rent first. 




Wow.
These were very, um, specific.

[thanks sugki]

Ahh well. 


But aren't you so totally grateful that we now don't have to go through any of these personally?  

Because our collective lesbian knowledge has been shared?

Thanks, Gay Universe!  

[Thanks Guen M. CJ sez hi.]

And you knew I was gonna ask, so:

What was your lesson from 2011?  


Care to add it to the collective queer knowledge pot??